


Shoot From the Hip

by amy_star



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Gen, Stanford Era, brothers being brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_star/pseuds/amy_star
Summary: Sam asks a question even he's not sure he wants the answer to. Stanford-era, mostly.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. I am so very sorry it's late and doesn't match the prompt exactly. More notes after the fic.

"Dean? Can I ask you something?"

Dean cut a glance over at his brother, huddled in the passenger seat of the Impala, before returning his gaze to the road. "I dunno, dude. You got that 'Time to care and share' look on your face."

Sam scowled at him. "Fine. Whatever."

Dean sighed. "I know I'm gonna regret this, but what's on that massive mind of yours?"

"Nevermind. It's not important." He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then blurted out, "I was just thinking. How - why - We didn't talk for over two years, Dean. How does something like that happen?"

Dean reached up and rubbed the back of his head, then reached out and fiddled with the volume on the stereo. Finally he said, "Now? You bring this up now? We've been on the road together for almost a year, and we've managed to avoid this."

"Avoid what? It's just a question, Dean. And I want to know. Normal families don't carry grudges like that and cut off all communication for two and a half years."

Dean let out a short bark of laughter. "First of all, yes, they do. Secondly, what part of 'normal' has ever applied to the Winchesters?"

"Fine." Sam pursed his lips and turned toward the window.

"Sammy, it works both ways. You had our cell numbers. I have email, you know that. You coulda come to us just as easily as we could to you. Easier, in fact, because you never gave us your address or number."

"Not like that stopped you from finding me anyhow."

"Not the point, Sam. Point is, we're all too goddamn stubborn for our own good."

That finally got a smile from Sam. "I guess you do have a point, there."

 

 

September 2002  
_______________

"Dad, we gotta go get him. We can't just let him go off like that!"

"No, Dean. It was his choice, and as he's so fond of telling us, he isn't a kid any more. He made his decision, we've gotta respect it."

"So, what? We just let him go? All alone in California, no one to watch his back? No. We can't do that."

"What are you proposing, son? That we kidnap him? Tie him up and keep him in the trunk until he sees the light? Kidnapping is pretty illegal, even for us."

Dean sat hard on the bed. "I don't like it. I've got a bad feeling."

John laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "I know it's tough, but we've gotta let him go his own way, even if it's just for a while. You think my parents wanted me joining the Corps right outta school?"

"I... I just don't see what's so bad about our life. I don't understand..."

"Son, you've been sowing your oats your own way. This is Sammy's way, and we gotta leave him to it."

"Can't we at least go check on him?"

John's eyes hardened. "No. He's his own man now. Let it be, Dean."

*

Sam's cell phone trilled. He didn't even bother to look at the number - he'd only been at Stanford for a week, and no one had the number. Yet. He knew it had to be Dean, calling again. He never left a message, but Sam knew exactly what he would say if he picked up. _Get. Your. Ass. Home. Stop being an idiot. College is not for us. We got places to go, things to kill. Grow up and accept your responsibility. You're a Winchester, a hunter._

He turned the cell phone off.

*

Dean stared at the cell phone in his hand. He sighed and threw it back in his duffel bag. He didn't know why Sam wouldn't pick up. He and DAD had had a fight. Why was Sam ignoring *him*? _Why did he leave *me*?_

How would they know Sam was okay? He hadn't even called to say he'd gotten in all right, and he'd been gone almost a month now. In a few days, Dean was gonna bust out and steal the Impala to check for himself that Sam was fine if Dad wasn't gonna. Meanwhile, he knew he was obsessing, and irritable, and generally a far bigger pain in the ass than ever before. He looked up to see his dad standing in the doorway.

"Still no answer?"

"Nah. Little bitch won't pick up."

"All right, son. Soon as we get this nest of pixies taken care of, we'll head down to check on him."

 

 

October 2002  
____________

"You coming or what, Dad?"

"No, son, I'm good in the motel."

"What? We drove all the way down from Oregon without stopping and now you aren't even gonna say hello?"

"A man's gotta stand by his word, and I told your brother that I didn't want to see his face again until he came to his senses. He hasn't made *any* moves at all, not even answering his phone, so I'm going to stay here. I get the feeling he'll be more glad to see you anyway. Have a good time."

"Dad..."

"Dean." There was no mistaking the steel in John's voice. Dean nodded once and left.

*

All it took was a few questions around campus to get the information he needed. Seemed most people knew - or knew *of* - Sam Winchester. _Come on, I know he's not hard to spot in a crowd, but Sammy? Mr. Popularity?_

Dean double-checked his notes, then tried the knob on the door in front of him. It opened easily to reveal a cute, petite redhead perched on one of the beds with an Organic Chemistry textbook open in front of her.

"Sorry... I guess I have the wrong room." He started to back out of the room.

The girl got up quickly, saying, "No, wait, who are you looking for? I'm just waiting for my boyfriend."

"Boy... oh. I'm, uh, looking for Sammy. My brother. Sam Winchester."

"Sam! He's a great guy. That's his bed there. He and Derek are at the library, finishing up a history project. They shouldn't be too long."

"Okay." Dean paced the room a bit, taking in the small details. He could make out the faint markings of runes on the door and window frames, and the small groove filled with salt carved into the floor at the threshold of the room. There were candles and incense on both boys' bureaus, but where Derek's seemed designed to cover up the scent of pot, Dean recognized the sage wands and noticed candles of different colors designed for ritual use on Sam's side.

He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He turned to the girl on the bed, who had been watching his progression through the room. "Where are my manners? I'm Dean." He extended a hand and flashed a megawatt grin at the girl.

"Melissa." The girl smiled shyly at him before taking his hand. "First time visiting?"

"That obvious, huh? Yeah, I never had the college experience, so all this is new to me." He idly picked up and put down objects as he continued to study the room. "You a student here too?"

She held up the textbook. "First year biochem."

"Sounds interesting."

"Sounds boring." She laughed. Dean smiled, and sat on the bed beside her.

*

Sam sat, arms folded tightly across his chest. "I can't believe you! You're left alone for like, five minutes with my roommate's girlfriend, and when we come back her shirt's buttoned all wrong and your pants are undone!"

"Nothing happened. Relax."

"Nothing happened? I know you, Dean. Just tell me you didn't do it on *my* bed."

"I don't kiss and tell. And nothing happened, I swear."

"You do kiss and tell! All the time! In *detail*!"

"Believe what you want, Sam." Dean sighed. "I didn't come all this way just to fight with you."

"Why did you come, then?" Sam asked accusingly.

"To see you. You just up and left, no word, outta the blue. You don't call, you don't write, nothing. What kind of brother would I be if I didn't come check on you?"

Sam sighed and relaxed a fraction. "I should have let you know I got here and everything's okay. I'm sorry. Where's Dad?"

"Probably researching. Just cleared a nest of pixies. Nasty little fuckers, good thing you weren't there."

"So you didn't come to drag me back with you then?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

Dean paused a beat, then said, "No. Not gonna lie to you, it's not the same without you there."

"Yeah. Quieter," Sam snorted.

Dean continued like he hadn't heard him. "But... You seem... happy here. Content. I don't wanna drag you away from that."

"Really?" Sam couldn't keep the shock from registering on his face.

"Yeah, really. So. You gonna take me to one of these famous frat parties or what?"

 

It turned out Sam would say or do anything after three beers. It was at the beginning of the fourth that he started introducing Dean to everyone - twice - as his "most awesome brother. Seriously. Totally cool." Dean spent the night laughing his ass off at Sam, and at the end of the night, feeding him Tylenol and a bottle of water before tucking him in. At the door, he turned and said softly, "Next time, answer your damn phone, Sammy."

Sam uttered a muffled 'Fuck you' into the pillow. Dean just laughed and gently closed the door.

*

"So, have a good time?"

Dean wasn't really surprised that his father had waited up for him. He *was* surprised at the hopeful tone his dad can't quite manage to keep out of his voice. "Yeah. It was nice. Met the roommate and roommate's girlfriend. Seem like decent people. Well, she's a little on the dirty side, but..."

"Dean."

"Sorry. Sam's got the basic setup - salt lines, sigils, smudge sticks. I think he's gonna do all right. His grades are good, not like that's a surprise, and he's got some friends. He seems pretty... settled."

"Oh. Well, that's good."

Dean watched his father deflate a little bit. He half wonders if John had *wanted* his son to fail, to come running home. If that's what he was expecting, he didn't really know Sammy well at all. "I left some cat's eye shells with him, and some other stuff. Looks like he at least paid attention to all the training we gave him."

"There's that. Well, we're leaving bright and early, so I'm gonna hit the hay."

"'Night, Dad." Dean watched his father thoughtfully for a moment before stripping off and getting into bed himself.

*

Phone calls were not a regular thing; in fact, the next time he called was at Christmas. Sam called him on his birthday at the end of January. Dean ordered his roommate a dozen pizzas on April Fool's Day, knowing Sam would feel bad and pay for them if he was the one to get the order. The next time they saw each other was the week before Sam's birthday.

 

 

April 2003  
____________

Sam was lying on his bed, headphones on, eyes closed when Dean practically kicked the door open.

"Knew I'd find you here, geek-boy."

Sam slit open one eye, expecting Derek. "Dean?" He sat up so fast he actually got a little dizzy. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, little brother. You're done exams, right? I've got plans for us."

"Plans? Dean, I'm staying at the dorms over the summer. I've got a job lined up at one of the labs. I can't just take off - "

"Sure you can. You and me. Mexico. Birthday shenanigans. Come on, Sammy."

"No. No, Dean. I remember the last time you dragged me off for this kind of thing. I couldn't get the smell out of my hair for a week, man."

"Birthday. Come on, you only live once. Let's go have a little fun. Next year you'll be legal, so we can stay here, but let's go have a little Mexican adventure now."

Sam sighed. "What about Dad?"

"What *about* Dad?" Dean looked puzzled.

"Well, you wanna take off in the car. Picking up waitresses in Tijuana isn't Dad's kind of thing, so what? We leave him here for a few days?"

"Dude, I totally forgot. The Impala's mine, baby!"

"What?" Sam stood. "What the hell happened? Dean, tell me you didn't kill Dad for the car!"

Dean laughed. "No, no. Dad bought this totally sweet truck; got it custom-modified, too. He gave me the Impala about a month ago. It's just you and me, bro."

"He *gave* you the Impala? Like, just *gave* it to you? Is he sick? Did he get hit in the head?"

"Shut it, Sammy. Get your shit together and let's roll."

"Dean, I really don't think..."

"Don't make me hogtie you. Come on. What's the worst that could happen? One too many cervesas."

*

Motorhead's Ace of Spades blared from the Impala's speakers. Dean sang along under his breath, tapping out the bass on the steering wheel with his thumbs. Sam slouched beside him, map out, pen tapping his teeth.

"Dude, you've been staring at that for like, an hour."

"Yeah. But something seems... off to me. I'm just not sure we've got the best route planned here."

"Relax. What's the rush? No job waiting for us, nothing but pretty girls and lots of drinks."

Sam sighed. "I dunno. Just a feeling. But I guess you're right."

"What difference will an hour or so make? A little extra driving. Awesome music, sweet ride... plenty of supplies..." At that he pulled out and tossed a bag of Gummi Bears at Sam. "See? I'm telling you, this is gonna be your best birthday ever."

Sam rolled his eyes, but took the candy and opened it. "I can't believe you're still listening to this stuff. Promise me that the next time you come down you'll at least have a CD player."

"Blasphemy, Sammy-boy. You're lucky we can't play vinyl in the car. How sweet would that be? Led Zeppelin IV on vinyl."

"Even though it *sounds* better on CD?"

"Vinyl just gives it character, man. Maybe your geeky little brain just can't understand that newer isn't always better." He patted the dashboard as he looked at Sam.

"Vinyl's kinda retro-cool," Sam allowed, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Dean punched him in the shoulder. "Maybe you *are* my brother, and not the product of space aliens like I've been telling you for years." He smiled and turned back to the wheel.

*

"The fuck was that?" Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road, just south of Bakersfield.

"Huh? Wha?" Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter.

"I take it you didn't see that, then."

"See what? We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Something just ran in front of the car. Actually, hopped would be more like it."

"Hopped? Are you sure you're not just seeing things? It's almost midnight and you've been driving like, four hours straight. Should I take the wheel for a while?"

"I know what I saw, Sam. I saw something dart out in front of the Impala. It was about three feet high, dark-colored with spiky bits on its back, and ugly. And it hopped."

"Then where did it go? This is practically desert, there's just scrub around. And I don't see anything."

Dean rolled down his window. He listened intently, then flicked on his high beams. "You hear that?"

"Hear what? All I hear is some wind and maybe some cows or something."

Dean pointed at the small barn a mile or two off to the left. "That's my point. It's midnight. Why are the cows freaking out? If we can hear 'em from here..."

Sam stared at the barn. "Shit. I take it you want to go check it out?"

"Hell, yeah. I mean, even if it's nothing we can get a little tipping in." He grinned, then popped the trunk.

"So what do you think that thing was? Could it have been a fox or something?"

They got out of the car and started pulling gear out of the trunk. "Nah, like I said, it hopped. And it actually looked more like a lizard. I think it might be a chupacabra."

"Chupacabras? Aren't they like, just an urban legend? Like the Fiji mermaid?" Sam asked, pulling out a sheathed dagger and strapping it to his forearm.

"Caleb said he'd seen 'em. And I think Bobby Singer might have killed a nest of them years back." Dean checked the clip in his gun. "Silver, consecrated iron, or good ol' lead?"

"Far as I remember, legend just says they feed on blood. No mention of how to kill 'em."

"I think you're good no matter how you do it. They're more of a nuisance than a danger, unless it's a big motherfucker."

"You might want a blade instead of a gun. Could be tough explaining to the farmer why you're shooting up his dairy shed."

"Doesn't really matter. Cows panic at the scent of blood. We gotta get in and out of there before the cows get really rowdy, and that farmer will probably be up any minute anyways."

Sam stared at him. "How the hell do you know anything about cows?"

"Dude. That doesn't matter. You ready or what? I mean, you haven't... you know... in a while, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hunt, you mean? No, I haven't. But I think between the pair of us we can handle one little lizard." He began to walk away, but Dean stepped in front of him.

"I'm serious. We don't have to if you don't wanna. I mean..." He looked at his feet, scuffing in the dirt, before looking up to meet Sam's eyes. "I didn't drag you out here to hunt, Sam. I really do just wanna have a good time with you for your birthday. So if this?" he made a gesture at the barn, "Is gonna cause a problem, I guess the farmer can deal with a few dead cows."

Sam looked around them at the dry grass, then at the barn, finally ending back at Dean. "Nah, I'm good. It's been a while, but it's like riding a bike, I guess. Let's go rescue some cows." He reached back into the trunk for the sawed-off shotgun before grinning at Dean. "Been a while since I got to play with this anyhow."

Dean slapped him on the back before sheathing a Bowie knife. "Just don't tell Dad we got you out to rescue cows. He'll think you've turned into a patchouli-wearing, tree hugging hippie." He paused. "Even more of one, anyway."

"Shut up, jerk."

Dean slammed the trunk. "Bitch."

Sam crossed the highway before turning and calling, "Dickface," back at Dean. Dean just laughed and followed his brother towards the farm.

*

The closer they got to the barn - well, dairy shed, really - the louder the mooing got. "How the hell is this not waking anybody up at the house?" Dean groused, looking back at the tiny, dark, farmhouse.

"Sound sleepers?"

"Something really isn't right here. Maybe we should check on the house first."

"And risk waking up some pissed off farmer? Somehow I don't think he'd believe that we were saving his cattle from Los Chupacabras. Not to mention there's a real chance of ending up on the wrong side of a shotgun."

"All right. So we check out the shed, and if that doesn't bring people running, then we check the house. Besides, there could be some nubile young housewife, bored and alone in there... "

"You're such a pervert, Dean."

The moment they reached to shed doors, Dean sobered up. "Okay, I know it's just one lizard-thing, but it hops, and it's got a good range. We're talking 'can top out at 20 feet' on big ones. The teeth are like hollow needles, super sharp. Keep it away from your throat. You ready? On three." He nodded at Sam to pull open the door.

Dean darted in first, Sam hot on his heels, pulling the door shut behind him. "What the..." The place was pandemonium. Cows were cowering, eyes rolling, bleating deafening cries. Several cows were down at the edges of their stalls, blood sprayed up in wide arcs. "I thought the legend said they had a narcotic bite or something!" Dean yelled into Sam's ear. "It looks like this little fucker has just torn out the throats!"

Sam spotted something moving in one of the pens at the far side of the barn. "It's over there!" He pointed at a green-gray blur.

"What are you talking about? It's over here, on the right!" Dean began moving towards one of the nearer pens, then stopped dead. A third, fourth and fifth were in the center aisle, looking right at them.

"What the hell?"

"Oh, shit."

More of them were popping up, seemingly out of nowhere. Dean could easily count a dozen, and there were probably more in the pens with the cows. "I think we're fucked. How many of these are in here? No way we can kill 'em all without waking people up."

"But too many for us to back out on. They could be a danger to people now, if there's a whole colony."

Dean risked a glance at his brother. "You think? Maybe that's why no one was awake at the farmhouse. Maybe these little bastards chowed down on some humans first."

"I dunno. But we gotta get rid of them, and then get to the house. There could be more."

"How many shells you got?"

"A pocketful. But they're massed together in the middle there, so I might be able to take out more than one at a time."

"Okay then. You start with them, I'll take the ones on the sides. Keep the door at your back, and if the cows stampede, run. Got it?"

Sam nodded, then realized Dean couldn't see him. "Yeah. Got it."

Dean began with the one he'd seen near the front at the right, followed by another hopping into his peripheral vision. Sam blasted a couple shots in quick succession straight up the middle, taking out almost a half dozen in the two blasts. Dean started picking off the ones coming at them that had escaped the shotgun while Sam reloaded.

Then things got really crazy.

Chupacabras dropped from the rafters. They swarmed out from behind bales of hay. What had been one had become two dozen, and now they were looking at upwards of fifty. And they were all making loud hissing noises, kangaroo hopping around like a bunch of ping-pong balls.

"Sweet Jesus fuck!" One landed a square dive-bomb on Dean, knocking him into a stall. He slid around in the muck, trying to shake the thing off his arm. Luckily, he had his jacket on, so it couldn't lock in its fangs. He finally flung it off him into a terrified cow, who began to run in circles. He rolled some more to avoid the hooves of 1500 pounds of dairy cow. He scrabbled back into the main corridor to see Sam backed against the wall, swiping madly with his blade, trying to fend off four more of them. They were too close to shoot at without possibly hitting Sam, so Dean unsheathed his Bowie knife and skewered two of them.

"Retreat, Sam! Let's go!"

Sam finished with the last of the ones in close range as Dean held the door open a fraction. As soon as Sam was outside, he began looking around the barn.

"What are you looking for?" Sam was slightly out of breath and covered in chupacabra gore, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

"An opening. The farmer's gotta lock the cows in for the night, right? Well, how the fuck are the chupacabras getting in the barn? Gotta be an opening somewhere."

"Yeah... but why are you worrying about that *now*?"

"Still no lights at the house. Means no one's home, Sam. Or everyone's dead. I figure we seal the barn up tight and burn the fucker down. Have ourselves a little barbecue."

"Like *that* isn't gonna get us noticed. Or arrested. And what about the cows? You were all hot to save them earlier."

"Yeah, well, sometimes sacrifices have to be made. And I think getting rid of a... nest of those things is a little more important than thirty cows right about now." Dean continued his search along the side of the barn. "Sammy? I think I found an opening. Is there anything you can see to put up against it? A big rock or something?"

Sam looked around. "No... wait. There are some bales of hay or something about a half-mile away. They look about the right size to be too heavy to move."

"A half-mile? And how are you gonna get it over here? Telekinesis?" Dean growled. "Fine. Tell you what. You stay here and watch this loose panel, I'll drive the car over and see what I can do." He handed Sam his Glock and stomped off, muttering about scratching up the paint.

As Sam took up his post by the crack in the wall, he started thinking. About the absurdity of the situation, about being alone in the car with Dean, about the thrill he got handling a blade again. He definitely didn't miss the fighting, the injuries, too little sleep and too much bad food. He loved his life at university, he felt so at home there. Like he was *made* for learning. He loved his classes, even the ones he didn't like. He never skipped a class, ever. But at the same time, this felt like *home*. Bickering with Dean, being out under the stars, adrenaline humming under his skin. Loud music, louder brother. He sighed, so lost in thought that he didn't hear the Impala so much as feel her rumble up beside him.

"No escapees?"

"Nothing. The cows are even starting to quiet down a bit."

"Or they could all be snack food by now. All right, let's get this over with. I have cow crap in my *hair*, dude. Where's this bale?"

Sam pointed him across the field, kitty-corner to the house. He couldn't hold in his laughter as he watched Dean try to lift the hay onto his car, hitch it to his car, and finally, use the Impala to push the hay over to the barn. He didn't need to be able to read lips to know Dean was cursing enough to make even a sailor blush as he slowly pushed the bale across the field. He moved out of the way to let Dean gently nudge it into place against the side.

"Jesus Christ! You'd think they would have used twine or something to make 'em easier to handle!"

"Good thing those are the small bales, not the thousand-pound kind, huh?"

Dean glared evilly at his brother as he handed him a Maglite. "Not on, dude. Come on. Let's go check out the house." Dean pulled a second gun from the waistband of his pants. "I'll go first, check the doors. You keep an eye on the barn to make sure we didn't miss an opening."

They slowly made their way up to the house, jumping every time the wind shifted. Dean barely touched the doorknob before it swung open. "That's... ominous," he said.

Sam just shrugged, still looking behind them. "Not necessarily. It's the middle of nowhere. A lot of people leave their doors unlocked."

"No, I was talking about the blood and the hissing noises coming from inside, doofus."

Sam's head snapped around, taking in the bloody wall. "No body in sight, maybe there's still someone left to save inside."

"Yeah." Dean's voice was dull. They both could tell it wasn't going to be pretty inside, based on all the blood they could see from the doorway. Neither really believed there was anyone left, but they couldn't just leave without checking first. He pulled another small flashlight from his pocket.

They swept the first floor of the small farmhouse, seeing nothing but more blood. The basement door stood ajar, and the hissing seemed to be coming from down there. There was a set of stairs leading up as well, with some blood trailed over to them.

Dean said, "I think we better take a look upstairs first. Blood could be a trail up, then we'll come back down to take care of the basement." He started up the stairs, Sam covering his back. At the top of the stairs there was a definite puddle of blood, but still no bodies. The doors were all ajar, but it was silent. The first door was a tiny bathroom with an old claw-foot tub. Sam half expected there to be something under it, but the room was as empty as the two bedrooms on the other side of the hall.

Dean spun around, exasperated. "Where the hell are the bodies? I mean, we know someone was up here because of all the blood. But where are they?"

"Maybe they got out? Maybe the attack started up here and they ran down the stairs?"

"Not with all that blood in the living room. You could be right about where it started, but get out? I don't think so. And there was no blood on the porch."

They looked at each other in silence for a beat then Sam said, "The basement."

"Sam, these things are three feet tall and hop. How could they drag anything down two flights of stairs? And why?"

"It's the end of April. Springtime. Maybe..."

"Waitaminute. *Baby* chupacabras? You really think these things are spawning?"

"Well, no one has ever seen more than a handful before, and there are easily forty in the barn alone. We can hear the hissing from the basement from up here. What's to say we haven't come across a breeding colony? And the legend says they're like vampire bats - they feed off sleeping animals and don't make a huge mess. Maybe they're tearing out throats to kill 'em so it's safe to let young ones feed."

"This is so fucked up."

"You're telling me. I don't remember signing up for this when I agreed to go to Tijuana with you."

"Okay, yeah, maybe it woulda been easier if we hadn't stopped. But tell me you aren't a little psyched by seeing something no one else has seen before. If you were a zoologist you'd be in hog heaven right now, Sammy."

"That's *why* I'm not in biology, Dean. I've had enough of seeing weird shit." He paused. "But it is kinda cool anyway."

"Attaboy, Sam. So we blast the shit out of the things in the basement, torch the barn, and drive like hell for the border, right?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. I could use a drink right about now," Sam sighed.

Dean grinned at him. "Plenty of cervesas by noon tomorrow, man."

 

They took the stairs to the first floor two at a time, then tried the lights to the basement. To their surprise, the lights actually came on. Not that it made the sight below any better.

At the bottom of the stairs were a lot of baby chupacabras. "Holy shit," muttered Sam. Dean just gaped at the sight. Below them were approximately 75 screeching miniature chupacabras. Some had spiky protrusions on their backs, but most were smooth. All of them began to leap towards the steps, but most were too small to make it over the broken bottom steps.

"How the fuck are we supposed to take out that many? Even if we had a machine gun it would take a hell of a long time and we would still need more ammo than I'd want to waste on these things."

Some of the larger ones were making their way towards the head of the pack. "That's it," said Dean. "We torch the house, too."

"What? We can't just burn this place down. What about the people who live here?"

"I'm pretty sure they're either dead or not coming back, Sam. And it's too dangerous to go at them with blades and we'd have to go back to the car anyways to get more bullets. I only got one spare clip on me for each gun, and that's not gonna be nearly enough to kill 'em all. We lock them in the basement, and torch the house and the barn. It's the only solution I can see. Besides, our prints are all over the place in here, on top of the blood. It's safer this way. Trust me, Sam. Even Dad would go with the burning on this one."

One of the chupacabras managed a five-foot leap that got it onto the steps. Dean pushed Sam out of the doorway and slammed the door just before the creature smashed into it. "Okay," Sam breathed, "let's burn this place."

Dean ran back to the Impala and pulled out a can of gas. "Good thing I always keep two spare in the car, huh? Never know when you're gonna run out of gas *and* need to torch something," he called as he jogged back to the house. "Find any flammables in the kitchen?"

"Couple bottles of rubbing alcohol, not much else. But there are no windows, so Molotov cocktails are out anyways."

"Windows would be bad - they could get out that way. I guess we're just gonna have to hope that this place is all-wood." He looked around at the house. It seems to be wood siding, and it's about old enough to be... Guess we'll find out, huh? The stairs were definitely wood." He paused. "I've got an idea. We firebomb with the alcohol down the stairs before lighting the place up. Concentrate the gas around the door to the basement and the foundation. If we're lucky, these people will have stored their old newspapers in the basement, and we can have a nice blaze going." He looked around. "You go pour the gas around the house while I get the Molotovs ready."

When Sam came back in the house, Dean was almost ready with two glass bottles in hand. He added in some sugar and taped the rags into place, then passed them off to Sam while he poured the last of the gas around the door to the basement and trailed some out the back door. He grabbed a few extra dry rags from the counter and shoved them into his pockets. He lit the rags in the bottles and handed them to Sam. "When I open the door, I expect a few of them to come at us. Toss 'em and run. I'll cover you." He pulled out his gun. "Ready?"

Sam pulled in a steadying breath. "Yeah. Go."

Dean pulled the door open and shot three chupacabras as Sam launched the homemade frags into the basement and ran. Dean slammed the basement door shut and followed as the house shook. He lit the trail at the back door, then pulled the rags out of his pockets and lit them too before placing them around the house's foundation. Within minutes the whole house was ablaze. He and Sam stood on opposite corners, watching to see if anything escaped the blaze. After a while, Dean walked over to Sam with a grin on his face. "Nothing like the poor man's hand grenade to entertain on a warm summer night, huh, Sammy?"

Sam just rolled his eyes. "Time to take out the barn then? We're out of stuff to make more bombs."

"Yeah, but we got all that hay. Spread it around the barn, lace it with gas, and light it up. Keep on point in case there are any escapees here. I figure we should be able to call it a night in about 20 minutes."

"You know, you get way too happy when you get to burn stuff."

"Whatever, man. It's getting the job done, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

 

They stayed to watch the barn burn. "I kinda wish we'd been able to save the cows," said Sam, as they were walking over to the Impala.

"Me too," said Dean. He punched Sam in the shoulder before getting behind the wheel. "Come on, kid. I think we should check into a motel for the night. Be nice to get the cow crap outta my hair, get you a shower. Plus, I think the border guards would take a dim view of bloody, cow-pie-smelling, middle-of-the-night-crossing people."

"Mmmmm..." was all Sam could manage, already half asleep against the window. Dean chuckled to himself as he turned the radio down and took the first exit.

*

The next morning saw them getting a late start. Between showering and eating, both had been kind of wired, so they had stayed up half the night just catching up. Dean paused a moment in the parking lot, looking at one of the trucks in the lot.

"What are you looking at, Dean?" Sam asked, folding his arms on the roof of the Impala.

"Nothing." He started back toward the car. "Just... that truck kinda looked like Dad's. Different plates, though."

"Huh. Nice truck, though."

"Yeah. Told you he got a pretty sweet ride."

*

Dean couldn't shake an uneasy feeling all day. At first he thought it might be nerves, being his first time driving the Impala and her arsenal across the border, but the feeling only got worse once they got checked into a motel in Tijuana. But true to his word, the early afternoon saw them sipping cold Coronas and girl-watching on the beach. He slapped Sam on the back and said, "Now, isn't this the way to celebrate your birthday? Hot sun, sand, chicks in bikinis, beer? Not bad, huh?" He grinned and slipped his sunglasses up onto his head.

"You *do* know my birthday isn't until Friday, right?"

Dean mock-glared at him. "'Course I know that. But this is your birthday vacation. I dunno..." He looked down and played with the label on his bottle. "It's just... we could never really do a lot for your birthday when you were a kid. So I kinda wanted to make a big deal out of it for once, and it was kinda quiet and I was pretty sure you'd have things to do with your friends next year, so..."

Sam's face softened. "This is a pretty awesome way to spend a birthday. No plans, no one to answer to. Time to do our own thing. It's cool."

"Plus, chicks like that one." Dean pointed out a girl in a blue bikini. Sam elbowed him in response. The moment passed, and they spent the rest of the afternoon alternately drinking and talking about places Dean had gone since the winter and funny shit that Sam had seen on campus. By the time Dean proposed finding food again, they were both well on their way to a spectacular drunk.

They decided to make a pit-stop at the motel before finding a place that would serve them food as well as more beer. Dean had a sunburn that was starting to ache, so he was thinking about taking a cold shower before going back out when they walked back into the parking lot. He was so lost in thought - and beer - that he didn't see the truck in the lot until Sam pointed it out to him.

"What was that, Sammy?"

"That truck. Is it the same one from the last motel? It kinda looks the same..." Sam weaved a little and had to put a hand out for balance.

"What would you know? You can't even stand straight!"

"Don't have to be able to stand to be able to see..."

"Whatever, dude. Better get you inside for a few, huh?"

"Yeah, maybe." Sam laughed and stumbled up the stairs to their second-floor room. He flopped onto the bed as soon as he cleared the doorway and promptly burst out into a fit of the giggles.

"What's so funny?"

"You're... all PINK!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not the first sunburn I've ever had, dork."

"Pink is a girl's color!"

"How old are you, five? I'm going to take a cold shower. Maybe you should nap, hey, buddy?"

"I want tacos!"

"Yeah, we could so something like that after I shower." Dean bolted the door shut in case Sam felt the need to wander off. He'd had at least six beers that afternoon on a mostly empty stomach, and he had no idea whether or not Sam was a wandering drunk. Considering his penchant for wandering off sober, he was hoping Sam would forget about the bolts and just not be able to get out should the mood strike him. He shook his head and said, "Man, we seriously have to build up your alcohol tolerance. I wish I had a video camera right about now." When he turned back to his brother, Sam was already asleep. "Lightweight," he snorted.

Dean took his time in the shower. He had the bathroom door open a crack, and didn't hear Sam stirring, so he figured it was okay to let the water run from lukewarm right to cold over his shoulders. Afterwards, he took his time trying to apply aloe gel to all the burned places. His nose was already trying to peel, and he was sure he was going to be as freckled as Opie on the Andy Griffith show by Thursday. Oh well. He was having a good time with his brother. It was nice, getting to really know his brother as a man, an equal.

When they had all been together, it was hard. He tried, but he was busy doing his own thing, and once Sam was old enough that Dean wanted him to hang out, he was busy brooding - when not actively picking fights. The last year had been really hard on everyone. Sam had questioned every decision Dad had made, and Dad's reaction had been to shut down on Sam. They had gone weeks without having a single civil word to say to each other, so Dean had been the go-between, which sort of made him everyone's bad guy. At the end of the day he had sided with his father because he knew his Dad was only trying to keep them safe, but in the intervening year, Dean had missed Sam so much. Even though it was more peaceful, the extra hand in research and the hunts themselves had been a big loss. That didn't even matter when compared to the loss of his best friend. Dad was great and all, but Sam was the one he played poker with for fun, traded insults with, pranked... basically, he and Sam, no matter how bad the times were, found time to let go, relax. And without Sam, it felt like he had one hand tied behind his back. He sighed at his reflection in the mirror.

"Sammy, you up yet? Time to go find food, man. The buzz is wearing off and I'm getting maudlin." There was no answer. "Yo, Sam! You got about five seconds to get outta bed or I'll dump wet towels on you."

He walked into the main room to find the door open and no Sam. Then he heard the yelling from outside. He kicked on his boots and tore out to the parking lot, not even taking enough time to put on a shirt.

"That's it! That's enough! We're gonna get the cops called on us!" He threw himself in between his father and his brother, separating them, but not calming them down any.

"Did Dean tell you that, Sam?"

"He didn't have to. I know he's miserable right now. I honestly don't know how he could stand to spend as much time with you as he does."

"What the FUCK is going on here?" Dean swiveled to look at his father. "Dad. What are you doing here? I thought you had to check out the trolls in Nevada."

John paused, still seething, and glared at Dean. "What were *you* doing, getting your brother for a hunt? Don't you remember how he *left* that 'lifestyle'? How he didn't need us any more? I thought *you* had some 'personal business' to attend to."

Dean looked at his father levelly. "I did have personal business. It was my brother's birthday, and I wanted to spend it with him. That's all."

Sam snorted. "I tried telling him that already. It seems he's been tracking *us* since Bakersfield. He knows all about the chupacabras."

Dean sighed. "Dad, we weren't looking for them. One ran in front of the car, so we followed it. No harm, no foul. Less nasty critters in SoCal, right? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I was willing to let Sam go, let him stay away from the business as long as he stayed *gone* - and now I find that he's still hunting." He turned his glare back to Sam. "How many other hunts have you gone on, Sammy? Huh? How many? I thought you were all about the experience of being 'normal.' What happened to that?"

"This is ridiculous. You're both drunk - don't deny it, I can smell it, Dad. You're pissed off, so why don't we let you both cool down and we can talk about it in the morning, okay?"

"No. We have it out now, Dean." John looked at Sam again. "Why, Sam? Why did you turn your back on us? Are you ashamed of us? Are we not good enough for you?"

"All I wanted was what everyone else got to take for granted." Sam sounded close to tears. "What's so wrong with wanting normal? You make it sound like something dirty. It isn't. You're the ones that are fucked up, living like Wild West outlaws."

"Hey." Dean looked at Sam. "We serve a purpose, Sam. You know it. If we weren't out there, doing what we do, a lot of people would have died."

"You're no better than he is, Dean. With your James Dean-wannabe wardrobe and the way you ass-kiss Dad? I think you might even be worse than him."

"What? What did you just say?"

"You heard me. I'm not the one in the wrong here. I'm the one trying to fit into society, trying to make a real difference."

"Yeah, well, normal isn't what it's cracked up to be sometimes, Sam. What makes you think you'll ever really fit in? If we're all such misfits, how do you think you'll ever be able to con anyone into thinking you're other than what you are?"

"Don't talk to me about normal, Dean. You wouldn't know normal if it came up and bit you on the ass. Just because you have no hope of ever being anything but a gun-happy petty criminal doesn't mean I have to end up that way too."

"You know what? Fuck you, Sam. You can fuck off back to school and never speak to me again. I don't have to take this bullshit from *you* of all people. I've done everything for you, given everything. I *would* know normal because _I had it and it burned up on the ceiling in *your* nursery_ , you fucking halfwit." Dean turned and stomped back up the stairs toward their motel room.

John just stared at Sam for a moment. "Are you happy now, son? I thought you would learn your lesson, that you belong with us, making a difference. Even if it meant school *and* hunting, I was willing to let you give it a shot. But after a display like that... I don't know what we ever did to you but try to protect you. Teach you how to be safe. I love you, son, but I think you need to do some serious thinking."

Sam's voice got deadly soft. "I have done some thinking. I'm done. I'm out. I never want to hunt again. I've got a good life at school. I have what I want; why can't *you* accept that? I'm not *like* you. I have other things I want besides vengeance. Your stupid quest has gotten Dean and I caught in the crossfire countless times, and I've had enough."

"Stupid? You call trying to kill the thing that killed Mary - killed your *mother* - a pointless quest? You know what? You want to go, fine. But this time, I mean it. If you go, stay gone. I don't need bullshit like this."

"Yeah, well... have a nice life. See you in hell, Dad." Sam stomped up the stairs and past Dean, who had been watching from the doorway. He began throwing his belongings into his bag.

Dean pulled the door closed behind them. "Sammy..."

"Save it, Dean. I've heard all I want to hear from either of you. I'm done talking." He went to push past Dean, but Dean blocked the door.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to blow up..."

"Yes you did. It's been a long time coming, but I'm kinda glad it's out in the open now. If you'll excuse me, I have someplace else to be."

"And where would that be?"

Sam laughed. "Anywhere but here."

Dean bit his lip. "Give me a minute to get my shit together and I'll drive you back - "

"No, I'll hitch. Have a nice life, Dean."

"Sam, wait. I don't - "

"No. Dean, I'm done, I'm out. I don't want to hear from you or Dad again. If it's an emergency, send me registered mail or something, but don't call. This is it, man." He shouldered past Dean and out the door.

Dean froze for a moment, then took off after Sam. The parking lot was empty; apparently their argument had chased away all the onlookers. Their dad's truck was gone. Sam's long stride was rapidly eating up pavement as he headed for the main strip out to the highway. Dean ran down the stairs and got into the car, throwing it into gear with a squeal. He pulled alongside Sam.

"Sam, don't be an idiot. Get in the car. We'll have dinner and then if you still want to go, we'll drive back."

Sam ignored him and kept walking.

"Sam. If you really want to go, I'll drive you to the bus station if you won't let me drive you home. Come on. Just..."

Sam looked steadily ahead and increased his pace.

"God-fucking-dammit, Sam, look at me! Something!" Still no reaction. "Fine. You want to play it this way, go right ahead. I won't stop you." He continued to pace Sam with the car for a moment, then when he still got no response, said, " You know what, Sam? Fuck you. I don't need this." He did an angry U-turn, leaving rubber on the road and went back to the motel.

 

 

2006  
_________

Dean sighed. "We're all way too stubborn, and proud. Dad wouldn't budge, you wouldn't budge... I mean, I tried calling you for six months after Tijuana, and you never answered. I even tried that registered mail crap, and you wouldn't accept it. I had to crawl in your window to get your attention."

"It's not all my fault, Dean."

"I know that. And I don't really blame you... but if you make it so a guy can't even apologize to you... That's all I wanted. I acted like an ass. You know I don't actually blame you for Mom, right? I never did. I know it came out like that, but that's not what I meant. I was drunk and mad and you and Dad were at it again and it came out all wrong."

"I know. I'm sorry too. I should never have said those things either."

Dean cleared his throat. "So, ah... chick-flick moment over? 'Cause there's some AC/DC in the tape deck that needs to be played, like now."

Sam just smiled and turned on the stereo.

"Well I was out on a drive  
On a bit of a trip  
Lookin’ for thrills  
To get me some kicks  
Now I warn you ladies  
I shoot from the hip  
I was born with a stiff  
Stiff upper lip" 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For the [](http://spn-holidays.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_holidays**](http://spn-holidays.livejournal.com/) challenge, for [](http://storydivagirl.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://storydivagirl.livejournal.com/)**storydivagirl**. The prompt was _Stanford Years fic that explains why Sam & Dean stopped talking for so long._ I don't know how well this met the prompt, but I gave it a shot. There are a few things that I feel bear explaining about the dates in here. When we see Sam in the pilot, he's most likely just starting his 4th year of university at age 22, which is about a year later than most students would be. Also in the pilot, Dean says he hasn't bothered Sam in almost two years (and I know Kripke has acknowledged that that was just a big "oops"), so I played with that a bit. And in case you're interested, the Sam-and-Dean-present-day that I was using was post-Provenance, pre-Dead Man's Blood. They've begun rebuilding the bridge in earnest at this point, so Sam feels safe bringing the topic up. And Drunk!Fun!Sam is based on a guy I knew in high school. Good times.


End file.
